Tell Me
by Unoriginality
Summary: "Tell me who I am." "You're my friend." (Spoilers for The Winter Soldier.)


Everything felt like a gloomy task with Bucky gone. Alive, but not there. Perhaps an enemy still. Who knew. But groceries still needed to be bought, and that could only be put off so long before the cupboards started looking a bit bare.

Steve trudged up the stairs to his apartment, a new place that lacked the bullet holes in the walls and a busted window, with two paper grocery bags in tow.

What stood out to him the most once he got to his door, was that it was unlocked. He could swear he'd locked it before leaving. Which means someone got in. Hell, who cared. It wouldn't be Nick, and Natasha had gone off radar, which left it more likely being a random asshole trying to rob Captain America's apartment, because that would be cool. Or something.

He opened the door quietly, walking with silent footsteps towards the kitchen. The lights were all still off, and the music wasn't playing, leaving a death-like shroud on the place, the silence unnerving him. He was probably jumping at shadows, he might've just forgotten to lock the door. It seemed unlikely, but even Captain America made mistakes.

Still keeping quiet, he headed for the kitchen, setting his bags on the counter. The place remained silent beyond those little noises he made with the bags. From the next room over, he heard a sound, a slight shifting on a chair. Leaving his groceries on the counter, unconcerned if the milk spoiled from sitting out too long, Steve walked into the dining area where he'd heard the noise from.

"Tell me who I am."

Steve nearly jumped. He hadn't seen Bucky sitting there, shadows dominating the room. "Bucky?"

Bucky was sitting in one of the chairs, back pressed against the wall. He looked like the Winter Soldier, hair long, slight scruff and the uniform, his metal arm reflecting the moonlight coming in from the outside. He didn't offer his statement again, merely stared at Steve, expecting an answer.

Steve leaned against the wall. "I'm pretty sure I told you. You're James Buchanan Barnes, you were born in-"

"I know the facts," Bucky snapped. "I saw the exhibit at the museum."

"Then what are you asking?"

Bucky tossed a folder on the desk. "I know this, too. Just facts."

Steve studied the folder. It was the file on the Winter Soldier. He thought he'd hidden it well in his apartment, but apparently not.

"So tell me who I am," Bucky repeated.

Something about the way it was asked, what he had to work with, Steve knew he'd better consider this answer very carefully. After several seconds of thought, he looked from the file to Bucky. "You're my friend."

Bucky's gaze never broke from the unwavering, unnerving stare. "Is that enough?"

"It's enough for me," Steve said, watching, hoping and praying that it would be enough for Bucky.

Everything Bucky said was punctuated by pauses, as if each word was a sentence by itself. "I tried to kill you."

"And I forgave you before it ever happened," Steve replied.

That broke Bucky's blank expression, trading it for one of surprise, and maybe a bit of fear. "Why?"

"Because you're my friend," Steve said again. "And what you did was Hydra, not Bucky. You were brainwashed, Bucky-"

"I know that."

Steve continued, unfettered by Bucky's interjection. "-and that wasn't your fault. So what you did wasn't your fault, either. Hydra attacked me. My friend did not."

"So I'm your friend."

"I've been saying that, haven't I?" Steve said, a weak, uncertain smile on his face. "I don't care what name you go by, Bucky, the Winter Soldier, it doesn't matter to me. You're my friend, and I'm not losing you again. I'll keep chasing you down until you either kill me, or decide to come home."

Bucky didn't question Steve's use of the word 'home', either automactically processing it as normal, or sweeping it away to be examined later. Steve wasn't sure which. Bucky finally looked away, looking out the window at the buildings and streets below. He was silent for what felt like a very long minute before speaking up again. "You never did learn to run away."

One corner of Steve's lips curled up into a half smile. "That's what you liked about me. That's what made you decide to be on my team to take down Hydra."

"Was it?"

"That's what you said when I asked," Steve said. "If you want to know who you are, you're the friend who always saved my dumb ass when I'd get into fights. You're the friend I lost and the one I want back. Is that what you're asking?"

Bucky glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "I don't know."

Steve took a chance, stepped over to Bucky's chair and crouched down beside it, putting him lower than eye-level to Bucky. Bucky turned back to him, recoiling a bit, but Steve didn't move. "You're the guy that wouldn't leave a burning building without me. You're the kid who stayed by my side when I had scarlet fever so my mother could go to work to make money to feed us without worrying about leaving me alone. You're the person who chased bullies off that wanted to pick on the ninety pound sickly kid. You're the best sniper in the army that saved me from Hydra soldiers more than once with your skill. Even when I was no longer a bully-magnet, you still protected me. Even when I had nothing, I had you. That's who you are."

Bucky stared at him, still drawn back some, putting a bit of space between them. Steve could swear his eyes were getting wet, but that may have just been a reflection of light. When Bucky spoke up, his voice was thick, making Steve think that maybe it _was_ tears he'd seen. "Can I come home?"

Steve smiled. "Home's been waiting for you." He stood. "Come on, when was the last time you ate?"

For a second, Bucky didn't answer, eyes averted as if trying to think. "This morning? I think?"

"Come into the kitchen, I'll get you something."

Bucky stood, as silent as a hunter, something that Steve would have to get used to. Whether he liked the past or not, Bucky had spent several decades as an assassin that changed the world with just the right kills, he'd probably be hard to hear coming down the hallway, stealth in every movement.

He followed just as quietly into the kitchen. "Just don't boil anything," Bucky said, standing out of the way as Steve started putting groceries away.

Steve laughed. "Don't worry, I learned some more modern cooking. Much better." He paused, looking over at Bucky. "You know, it's been kinda quiet around here without you. Didn't feel like home."

"Was that before or after you found out I was still alive?"

"Both. I've missed you, Bucky. You've always been my best friend."

Bucky looked uncomfortable with Steve's blatant statement of affection. He began to study the ground like it was the most fascinating thing ever. "Sorry."

Steve set the milk down and walked over to Bucky, pulling him into a hug. "Don't you apologize for anything," he said. "There's no need to."

Bucky stiffened, then lifted his arms to return the hug. "You're a punk."

Steve smiled. "Jerk."

Suddenly home felt a lot brighter.


End file.
